Here's some bizarre/beautiful. Looking at this photograph (from The Sartorialist) reminded me of Anna Kavan's Ice. It's a strange brutal claustrophobic book, the kind that makes you realise what a convenient word strange is when you're trying to find something that fits. Which brings me to the girl in it. Take this picture here, subtract the accessories and gold shoes and runway makeup and it's the same girl. Which is why it's strange that it should jump out right in the midst of all this inspiration Googling, but then everything always leads to something else from long ago, which is, in a spiralling sort of way, the book all over again.

Decluttering requires a certain amount of sanctity, I think, which explains why I clean up only around once a month. Till then, dirt is my friend :)